


Just What He Needed

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Sherlock December Ficlets 2017 [24]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13186971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: A good deed helps take the sting out of a bad rage over an ugly case...





	Just What He Needed

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the [Sherlock December Ficlets ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fcollections%2FSherlock_December_Ficlets_2017&t=NjRmODc4ZjE3OGJjNjUzYzg2NWVhY2QzMTRjNDJmOTUwMzdkOTRhMCxabzFVQjBkMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AfMPAp7-tN-90HMCNGHRDOw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmissdaviswrites.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F167644180668%2Fsherlock-december-ficlets&m=0) challenge. Each will be its own story, though knowing me a couple may follow an arc of sorts.  
> The prompt used for this entry: Holy Night / Mittens or Gloves

“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

“Amen.” Greg Lestrade made the sign of the cross along with the priest and quickly left the confession booth. It was a harsh case. The ones involving the death of a child always were, but this one hit him hard. Donovan saw the little girl first. Sally had warned him not to go in. He wished to heaven that he had heeded his sergeant’s words.

The mother, found by her sister coming to babysit while she went to work, was in emergency with hypothermia. She was expected to live; her daughter was not so lucky. The little girl who will never see age five reminded him so much of his own youngest daughter at that age he nearly lost it. They had similar dark brown, wavy hair; the same type of winter coat and both named Gia.

Still, Greg knew the little girl’s mittens were what broke him.

His Gia’s hands were always cold in winter. Regular gloves alone were never enough in harsh weather. Geneviève, his oldest daughter, had once slipped oven mitts on her younger sister’s hands as a joke, but Gia’s happily warm fingers loved it. This Gia had oven mitts over her gloved fingers as well.

The issue was when Greg met with the slum landlord. In trying to drive his low income tenants out, so the building can be converted to more expensive units, he had turned off the heat to the building, claiming the boiler was broken. Once forensics was done, Lestrade took a look at the boiler and had it up and running in fifteen minutes. The scum had done this during a stretch of bitter cold weather. Worse, a window that had broken in the summer had yet to be fixed. The oven and space heaters were not enough to compensate against the cold.

“The tenant was always free to move out or go to a shelter.” the man blithely shrugged as the gurney carrying the innocent child rolled past them. Sally Donovan saw her boss’ face and immediately grabbed Greg by the arm and slammed him into a wall. He could have done without the bloody nose that resulted from it, but he was grateful. They both knew it was the only reason he was not in a jail cell along with the landlord.

The rage he felt in that moment; the rage that could have cost him his job, was why he sat near the back pews of a church during Holy Night services hours later. It was why he still sat there fifteen minutes after service was over. It was why he found himself in a confession booth for the first time in over a decade.

It was why he walked the streets of London in the still of the bitter cold night finally starting to feel a little better when his mobile pinged. He was not going to answer it at first. Then he realized it was the specialized ring he had assigned to his daughters.

“Hi Père, are you okay?” The concern in his now very grown Gia’s voice nearly floored him.

“I’m fine babykins. No, actually I’m not, but I will be.” Greg sighs, “How did you know?”

“How did I know, what?”

Greg stopped walking. Gia, never responds to a question with a question. It was one of her things; he knew she was dodging answering him.

“Never mind, you just answered my question.” the detective inspector shook his head. He may not be anywhere near a Holmes level thinker, but he was no dummy. “I’m fine now baby girl. Honestly, your voice is exactly what I needed, but I’m in the streets, it’s late and it’s freezing out.”

“Fine, go home, old man. Get warm and call me tomorrow, Dad. Okay?” It really wasn’t a request and he knew it.

“Oui, mademoiselle.” Lestrade smirks at the role reversal, “Love ya kiddo.”

“Love you too, Père.”

Greg smiles. It is a tremulous one to say the least, but it is a real one as he rings out and drops the mobile back in his coat pocket. He was actually beginning to feel the bracing cold now. He looks around getting his bearings and heads for the Underground. He parked his car too far from where he stood to get it now; he will pick it up in the morning.

“Gregory…?”

A familiar voice called out from an equally familiar black sedan.

Mycroft. Perfect.

“Let me guess: an anonymous text. _Maybe you should give your father a call_. Something like that?” Greg chuckled humorlessly as Mycroft exited the car and walked over to him.

“Something like that.” A gloved hand found his a moment later, followed a short sniff.

“C’est vraiment gentil de votre part.” Greg could not be mad at the man; it was kind of him. The sound of his Gia’s voice was exactly what he had needed to help him out of his foul mood. Seeing the posh man in front of him also helped - immensely.

“Je t’en prie, mon roi.” Mycroft pulled him into a quick kiss. “Gregory, you’re freezing! You’re not even wearing a hat. Let me get you home.”

“Are you trying to jump my bones, Mr. Holmes?” Greg arched a brow; more than a little pleased Mycroft still teased him with the endearment that brought them together, after all this time.

“Don’t be crass, Mr. Lestrade. If I wanted to _jump your bones_ you would already be in my sedan with your pants at your ankles.” Mycroft grimaced with disdain at the colloquialism; as Greg knew he would. However, the silver haired detective had not expected to hear the rest of that sentence from The Iceman. He grinned at the visual brought to mind.

“We’re both kind of tall; would there even be enough room for such?” Greg glanced at the sedan with an inquisitive frown.

“Gregory Michael Lestrade I cannot believe you are actually contemplating the logistics of receiving fellatio in the backseat of the sedan.” Mycroft blinked three times; for him, that was the equivalent of a regular person's jaw drop.

With a start, Greg realized that was exactly what he was doing, but having been called-out on it, he was not going to back down now.

Greg let go of Mycroft’s hand, walked over to the sedan and opened the door. His grin is all kinds of wrong, as he made a show of visually scanning the interior and miming taking measurement, before he held the door open for the Iceman to enter.

“God damn you!” Mycroft snarled, rolling his eyes as he approached the car. His visible reaction, in spite of the cold, showed he was not in the least upset about Greg’s perfectly clear intentions and they both knew it.

Greg waited until Mycroft had partially bent to enter the vehicle before he spoke:

“And who said anything about _receiving_?”


End file.
